


One Night at Club Radiant

by profoundfall



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, D/s undertones, Dean's Birthday, Dom Castiel, M/M, Panty Kink, Stripper AU, Stripper Castiel, Top!Castiel, bottom!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-01-27
Packaged: 2018-01-10 05:10:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1155477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/profoundfall/pseuds/profoundfall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Charlie showed up at the garage with a six-pack of El Sol and an order for him to chug them down before they reached the bar, Dean knew he was in for one hell of a night.</p>
<p>Featuring Stripper!Cas and light Dom!Cas because of reasons. Happy Birthday, Dean!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rag Doll

**Author's Note:**

> You guys keep reading this (!!!), so I've gone through and fixed some typos. I also linked some of the music! Thanks for all the kudos and comments!

When Charlie showed up at the garage with a six-pack of El Sol and an order for him to chug them down before they reached the bar, Dean knew he was in for one hell of a night.

He was on his third beer when they stopped at the diner to pick up Benny, who took off a couple of hours early from his shift to join them. Benny pulled his fisherman’s cap down low to keep the sun out of his eyes when he walked out of the diner, and Dean grinned when he saw the man was carrying a white bakery box with him. Benny ducked into the backseat of Charlie’s yellow station wagon and flicked Dean on the back of the head. 

“What’d you bring me?” Dean asked.

“Nah, brother, this is for later,” Benny answered, setting the box beside him. He glanced at the three beers still waiting in the flimsy cardboard carrier on Dean’s lap. “Why haven’t you finished those?”

Charlie tipped the bottle in Dean’s hand up to his mouth and held it there until he swallowed down the rest of his third El Sol.

He had, in fact, polished off all six beers when they pulled up behind Sam’s truck at a stop sign on the way to the bar. Feeling a little buzzed, Dean hopped out into the frigid air, ignoring Charlie’s cry of disappointment, and jogged up to the truck. It was fucking _freezing_ , the chill cutting through his brown leather jacket. He pulled on the handle to open the passenger door, but it was locked. 

“C’mon, asshole! I’m freezing my balls off!” He could see Sam’s shady outline through the tinted window. “Sammy, it’s my birthday, you gotta play nice if you want to drink with us.” 

Two seconds and the door was unlocked.

Dean climbed up into the cabin with a grin. “Bitch.”

“Jerk.” Sam shook his head with a smirk. “You finish that six-pack?”

“Why? You got another one?”

Dean was a little relieved when Sam laughed and said no. Nature was calling and Dean would have to answer it as soon as they got to the bar.

But then Sam pressed on the gas and turned in the opposite direction.

 Dean glanced back, seeing that Charlie followed them. “Hey, where are we going?”

“The bar.”

“No - the Roadhouse is _that_ way.” Dean pointed over his shoulder.

Sam just shrugged. “We’re not going to the Roadhouse. We’re going to Club Radiant.”

“ _What_?” Dean’s shoulders slumped. “Charlie…”

Club Radiant was a new place downtown, like a co-ed strip club from what Charlie had told him. She’d started going there almost every weekend, and she’d been trying to drag Dean along ever since he told her he might - _might_ \- be okay with it. 

He glanced at Sam and tried to decide whether to argue. As far as his little brother was concerned, Dean was the straightest good ole southern boy who ever lived. He’d never be able to bear that confused look, the judgment and the _weirdness_ that would bubble up between them if Sam ever found out about that one sunny, blissful afternoon Dean had spent behind the bleachers with Andy Gallagher in high school, realizing everything he’d been missing out on.

And then they were parked in a corner lot downtown and Sam was stepping down from the cab. Jesus, did he really just space out and _fantasize_ about that day the whole trip? It took at least twenty minutes to get downtown this time of day. Dean hated living downtown and he preferred to live closer to the garage so he could get there in a hurry if they needed him. Bobby hadn’t officially retired, but Dean had taken on more of the management duties lately. 

He watched Charlie and Benny park a little ways down the row and told himself to stop worrying; part of the reason Charlie was his best friend was because she had helped him give up a lot of his old ways of thinking, like shouldering the responsibility for his entire family. (Sam was a grown man now and could take care of himself.) Besides, it was Dean’s birthday, and it’d been years since he celebrated it properly. 

“Fuck it,” he said under his breath, and when he joined Sam, Charlie, and Benny on the sidewalk, he decided to just have a good time. Charlie, at least, seemed giddy with the fact that Dean wasn’t fighting it as they approached the club. 

An obnoxious neon sign that looked like a starburst framed the words “Club Radiant” over the doors. There wasn’t a line around the corner or anything, but when a couple in front of them went inside first, he could hear the noise and knew it would be crowded in there.

But his brow furrowed when he recognized the tune playing as they stepped inside, relishing the warmth. 

Charlie caught his look. “It’s _Aerosmith_ night!” she said over the music. “See? I just couldn’t pass it up for you, Dean!”

Dean smiled for her and kissed the top of her head. “Aerosmith is awesome.”

“Charlie!”

A tall, slender woman, all gorgeous blonde locks and cat eyes, nearly flung herself on the petite redhead beside him.

When she kissed Charlie full on the mouth, Dean’s eyes widened and he glanced at Sam, who shrugged. Benny, on the other hand, was chuckling as he tilted his hat down a bit.

At least the blonde looked just as flustered as Charlie when she pulled away, her eyes wide with horror. “Oh! I’m sorry, I…” Her frantic gaze flitted around at the men and she put on a smile that was too wide and eager. “So which one of you is Dean?”

“Guilty,” Dean said.

“Great!” She looped her arm through his and started pulling him along. “We have a table reserved for you.”

He looked back at Charlie, who was still gaping at the woman in shock. But Benny gave her a shove and they followed Dean and their host to a table close to the bar and right next to an open dance floor set with three shiny poles.

Dean paused at the sight of a delicious curve of leg wrapped around the closest pole and met the smoky eyes of the sandy-haired woman it belonged to. She gave him a wink, swirling around her pole while the chorus of “[Living on the Edge](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7nqcL0mjMjw)” beat down on them. 

Their host tried to sit him down at a table right next to the stage, but Dean shook his head. “I’d appreciate it if you showed me the little boy’s room, first.”

The woman grinned. “That way,” she said, and pointed back by the bar.

Walking around, he had to admit the place looked nice. Everything was bathed in soft golden light. The wood-paneled bar was classic with liquor bottles shining along glass shelves behind the smooth counter. Scattered in front of the bar were round wooden tables and chairs. Then there was the open dance floor, and the opposite wall was lined with booths. He found the sign for the restroom past the bar and a handful of dimly lit tables in the back.

If there was one thing Dean had learned during their trips from motel to motel as a kid, it was that you could judge how much a place really cared about their business by the state of their bathrooms. And this one in Club Radiant: a solid 7, if not an 8. Clean urinals, no graffiti on the stalls. Even the synthetic flowery smell wasn’t too overpowering. Sure there was some water on the counter by the sink and a paper towel that didn’t make it to the trashcan, but overall it made his approval rating go up. 

When he unzipped and realized he was humming “Happy Birthday to Me,” he shrugged and kept on with it while he pissed. He was washing his hands when another man came into the bathroom. He looked rung out and hassled, dressed in a suit and a tan trench coat - like he had just come out of a business meeting. A _bad_ business meeting.

Dean stepped to the side when the man crowded him around the sink, cupping his hands next to Dean’s under the still running water and splashing it on his face. As the man groaned, Dean couldn’t help smirking. 

“Fuck ’em,” Dean blurted out. Damn, maybe he was a bit more buzzed than he thought; his internal commentary usually stayed, y'know, _internal_. 

Blue eyes peered at him in the mirror, water droplets running down the man’s lightly stubbled cheeks. His pink lips parted a little, and Dean inhaled sharply at the sight. He yanked a couple of paper towels from the dispenser in hopes of hiding it.

The man ran his wet fingers through his hair, making it more mussed up than it already was, and he turned around to face Dean. Then he smiled. It was just a small turn at the corner of his mouth, but it made his face a million times warmer, and younger, and _hotter_. A trickle of water ran from his jaw down under his collar and _shit_ , Dean was already screwed. He felt heat rise in his cheeks; maybe he could blame that on the booze.

“Alright,” the man said in a deep voice that shouldn’t be allowed out of a porno, and he loosened the knot of his blue tie until it hung over his sternum. “Fuck ’em.”

And wasn’t _that_ just what Dean needed to hear when all he could think of was lapping at the water beading just under the man’s Adam’s apple. Not knowing what else to do, Dean clapped him on the back and headed for the door.

He almost sprinted back to the table. His timing was perfect as the lithe blonde who had greeted them at the door set a round of Jäger shots in front of him, compliments of the house in honor of the special occasion. It wasn’t his drink of choice, but Dean swallowed down his own shot and then Charlie’s too, the refreshing taste of licorice doing little to clear his head. Charlie just grinned and asked what else he wanted next.

“A bottle of your finest Tennessee whiskey,” Benny answered for him. “It’s on me, brother.”

Dean nodded, but his eyes were fixed on the sandy-haired dancer now leaving the stage. Hopefully the others would take it as eagerness to see more of the show rather than a desperate attempt to keep from looking over his shoulder.

“Just a Coke, thanks,” Sam said to their host. He held up his hand before Dean could protest. “Designated driver. I promised Jess.”

“Is that all you promised her?” Dean asked with a smirk. Teasing Sammy always brought some kind of balance back to his life, and his shoulders eased. The privileges of being an older sibling. “How’s she feel about you being at a strip club?”

“Are you kidding?” Sam chuckled. “She’s pissed she had to work tonight or else she’d be here. She’s heard a lot about this place.”

“You’ll just have to bring her next time,” their host chimed in. “My name’s Gilda if you need anything. I’ll be right back with those drinks.”

“Thanks, Gilda,” Charlie said, and she seemed to have overcome the shock of the earlier kiss. In fact, she looked downright mischievous when she gave the blonde a wink. “You’re the best.”

Gilda blushed and hurried away, but she returned a few moments later with their orders. Charlie led the toast to Dean’s thirty-fifth, and he indulged the wisecracks about his growing complaints about his back and the pudge winning the battle around his tummy. Whatever - Dean got enough batting eyelashes at the garage to secure his self esteem for the next five years at the very least.

The whiskey was very good: dry and silky on his tongue. He’d taken off his coat as the liquor warmed his blood, and he pushed up the sleeves of his gray henley. Sam had done the same with his red flannel shirt, but Benny seemed content to sweat it out in his peacoat. At least, that was until Charlie bought the table a bottle of tequila and had them all (minus Mr. Goody-goody-sober-Sam) downing shots. The smoky flavor of it blended well with his whiskey, and he wondered if they had been brewed in the same brand of barrel. 

Lost in the laughter that seemed to occupy the table like another guest, Dean was feeling _awesome_ by the time Aerosmith’s “[Pink](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZfbBqBOSXlU)” strung through the speakers.

 

_Pink - it’s my new obsession._

_Pink - it’s not even a question._

_Pink - on the lips of your lover._

_‘Cause pink is the love you discover._

 

 A pretty redheaded fox and dark-haired chick with a cheshire smile had stepped out onto the floor. The first was dressed in a blue cardigan and a short pleated skirt. The second was head-to-toe in black leather. Dean liked it: the good girl versus bad girl angle. Red light filtered through the spotlights overhead and made the room even warmer from their heat.

“That’s Anna and Meg,” Charlie said, leaning so close to Dean’s side that she almost fell out of her chair. When Dean looked over at her, the whole room seemed to swerve with him. Damn, he’d only had a couple of shots. And he’d just started on his whiskey. Wait, was this his second glass? Oh, and six beers. Right.

“You know them all by name?” he teased her. He looked back to the redhead - Anna - as the leather clad woman slipped her hands around her from behind and unbuttoned her schoolgirl cardigan to reveal a bright pink lacy bra. Just watching those leather gloves run over her body made Dean’s skin tingle even from a distance.

“I know most of them, but I don’t _know_ them,” Charlie slurred.

Dean smirked. “You mean you haven’t gotten to _know_ Gilda yet?”

Charlie narrowed her eyes, a cunning smile over her lips. “You just wait and watch the master at work, my young padawan,” she said and poured them each another shot.

 

_Pink - it was love at first sight._

_Yeah, pink - when I turn out the light._

_And pink gets me high as a kite._

_And I think everything is gonna be all right_

_No matter what we do tonight._

 

Dean swallowed back his shot and knew he was getting drunker than he’d been in years, and he sure as hell wasn’t feeling shy when Anna came over to their table sans sweater. 

“You must be the birthday boy!” she said, giving Charlie a wink before siding up next to Dean. She raised her white pleated skirt up just enough to give him a peek at her pink satiny underwear. 

Benny and Sam were laughing as Dean’s eyes followed her slender hands, unzipping her skirt and slipping it down her legs. She bent over in front of him, her ass shimmying back and forth. 

 

_You could by my flamingo._

_‘Cause pink - it’s the new kind of lingo._

_Pink - like a deco umbrella._

_It’s kink that you don’t ever tell her._

 

Dean was having flashbacks of another special night in high school, when he and Andy had been waist-deep in angsty sexual tension (which took Dean _forever_ to catch on to, he admits it). He was sixteen years old with the lovely Rhonda Hurley in the backseat of the Impala, and—

And before _that_ could get any further, he gulped down the rest of his whiskey. Benny passed Dean a five dollar bill, and Anna rolled her hips beneath his hands when he clumsily slipped it under her lingerie. In spite of all the hot light beating down over the stage, her skin felt cool, and Dean went to war with his instinctive reaction to rub his hands up and down her sides.

Fortunately - or unfortunately, he couldn’t decide - Anna stepped around his chair to give Charlie a peck on the cheek. “Your Angels should be up soon.”

“My Angels!” Charlie cried, almost knocking over the bottle of whiskey as excited flailing ensued. Benny rescued it and dragged it closer to his side of the table, because dammit, it was still mostly full. But hey, the tequila was, like, _half_ gone. 

Three more shots were poured.

Okay, so _more_ than half.

“Angels?” Sam repeated as Anna swayed her pretty ass to the next table. Dean looked over at the leather-clad woman, Meg, across the room. She had unzipped her jacket to reveal a bright red corset underneath, and he wondered if she’d head their way too. Oh, what if she ran those gloved hands over him just like she had with Anna, dipping her fingers under his collar, biting the back of his neck— 

“Like, _Charlie’s Angels_?”

Oh, _right_! Sam was still talking. Dean tried to swerve his attention back to his own table with great difficulty - Meg had just pulled a guy out of his chair and handcuffed him to one of the tall silver dance poles.

“Seriously, how often do you come here?”

“What?” Charlie huffed, raising her eyebrows. “It’s not like I can switch this off.”

Dean did _not_ giggle. But he did press a kiss to Charlie’s brow. He either drooled a bit or she was sweating under the lamplight, because she wiped her forehead with a napkin afterward. 

Once Anna had snatched the keys from Meg and uncuffed the drunk bachelor, who returned to his buddies with loud cheers, Dean leaned back in his seat and announced “I’m fucking _hammered_ ” when the room tilted.

“Uh, yeah, we know,” Sam said, all smart-ass-y. He was grinning though, and Dean was glad he looked happy. He had Jess and he was so close to finishing law school, even if it had taken a bit longer than most people. God, Dean _hated_ that Dad had interrupted all that. 

He must have said that out loud, because Sam rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t your fault, Dean. C’mon - it’s your birthday! No use worrying about that now.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, and tried to shake it off.

Anna and Meg retreated off the floor, but they were soon followed by another pair of gorgeous women as the famous strum of a guitar opened “Sweet Emotion.” 

This was swiftly turning into the best night Dean’d had in _ages_.

He had just refilled his whiskey for the third - no, fourth - wait - fuck it - when the lights all turned pale white and the familiar beat of a drum had him bobbing his head. “[Rag Doll](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jv2vx57BYi8),” fuck yeah! Dean looked out to the stage because this was going to be good.

His glass paused halfway to his mouth when three dancers emerged. 

Three male dancers.

In business suits.

Of course Dean’s eyes fixated first on that dark, mussed up hair and the small tilt of a smile at the corner of full pink lips. The man looked far more relaxed than he had standing over the bathroom sink, like he had undergone some kind of transformation. Though, Dean supposed, it had been at least an hour since their little exchange. Hell, he might have a few drinks in him too. 

In the middle was a lean blond with an easy grin, the top three buttons of his shirt already undone. He offered a wink to a booth full of women who were all whistling and clapping. The man closest to their table was shorter than the others with chestnut hair and pure mischief in his eyes. Dean was surprised to find his gaze directed at them, and the man waggled his eyebrows as though cluing them in to an inside joke that Dean didn’t quite get.

Then Charlie erupted with a cheer so loud that Dean nearly spilled his drink down his front. 

“There’s my sexy beasts! WOOO!”

 

_Rag Doll, livin’ in a movie._

_Hot tramp, Daddy’s little cutie._

_So fine, they’ll never see you leavin’ by the back door, man._

 

All three men rocked their hips and stepped forward together in a choreographed move when the words started. Dean briefly imagined them laughing and trying to plan their dance out in somebody’s garage, because they looked so at ease with one another. 

When they pulled their suit jackets from their shoulders, inch by inch, Dean remembered with a flash of panic that this was a _strip_ club and his mouth went dry. He was drunk off his ass, but he threw back the whiskey in his glass in two gulps because he was _not_ drunk enough for this.

 

_Hot time, get it while it’s easy._

_Don’t mind, come on up and see me._

_Rag Doll, baby won’t you do me like you done before._

 

Jackets were on the floor. People - men _and_ women - were catcalling around the club. Charlie was dancing in her seat, and Dean noticed even Benny and Sam were watching the show with big grins on their faces. The tension in his shoulders eased a bit, knowing no one was staring at him, waiting for him to give any kind of reaction.

But when he looked up, sharp blue eyes were locked on his. The dark-haired man’s confident smirk broke only for a second into an anxious, toothy grin, his gaze turning to the floor almost shyly. Then he was staring at Dean again, bold and damn near _sultry_ , as he pulled loose the knot of his navy blue tie.

 

_I’m feelin’ like a bad boy._

_Mmm, just like a bad boy._

_I’m rippin’ up a Rag Doll,_

_Like throwing away an old toy._

 

Hips rolled in slow, sensual thrusts. Turning around, the three men pulled their shirttails from their slacks. Screams erupted as the shirts fell to the dance floor, revealing delicious bare skin and toned muscles. 

Dean gulped when the dark-haired one still had the tie hanging loose over his firm shoulders when they faced the audience again and _Holy Maker of Pies_ , his pants were slung low enough to show off his trim hipbones, sinking down to a bulge in those well-fitting black slacks…

 

_Some babe’s talkin’ real loud,_

_Talkin’ all about the new crowd._

_Try and sell me on an old dream,_

_A new version of the old scene._

 

Intense blue eyes were focused on Dean again as the man ran his hands down his own bare chest. Dean shifted in his seat, fists clenching around his jeans, because _goddamn_ he was hard. He glanced around the table again. Not good, not good, not good.

 

_Speak easy on the grape vine,_

_Keep shovelin’ the shoe shine._

_Old tin lizzy, do it till you’re dizzy,_

_Give it all ya got until you’re put out of your misery!_

 

The men popped their hips in time with the strengthening beat - Dean did _not_ whimper, like you could even hear it over the pounding music, shut up - and with the chorus they stomped their feet in perfect sync, turning around and flaunting their asses.

Then they suddenly broke away from each other. The blond headed straight for the booth of ladies he’d winked at earlier, and they looked more than happy to have him. Charlie was waving wildly, dollars in her fist, and the shorter man started his way over to them with broad smile - except that he was swiftly cut off in the wake of the determined march of his dark-haired partner. 

Dean’s head swayed, and he wasn’t so sure that it was just the booze anymore.

 

_Yes, I’m movin’ - yes, I’m movin’,_

_Get ready for the big time,_

_Tap dancing on a land mine._

_Yes, I’m movin’ - yes, I’m movin’;_

_Old tin lizzy, do it till you’re dizzy,_

_Give it all ya got until you’re put out of your misery!_

 

Sam and Benny were shouting “OOH!” (Charlie was almost under the table bent over in laughter) as the dancer went straight to Dean’s chair, forcibly pulling it back in order to get close to him.Dean could feel the fucking _heat_ radiating from the man’s bare skin when he leaned in close, and for one mortifyingly _desperate_ second, Dean thought the man was going to kiss him.

But then that blue tie draped over the back of Dean’s neck, and the man straightened up to roll his hips right in front of Dean’s face as the chorus played through again. 

 

_Rag Doll, livin’ in a movie._

_Hot tramp, Daddy’s little cutie._

_So fine, they’ll never see you leavin’ by the back door, man._

 

The man gripped the ends of the tie and pulled Dean’s face even closer to his crotch, and Dean couldn’t help placing his hands on the man’s firm thighs to brace himself.

Holy shit, this was _bad_. He was inches from those bare hips, the scent of detergent mixing with the distinct earthy smell that was part sex and part sweat. Dean thought of sucking a mark into the flat skin beneath the man’s belly button, and his cock strained against the zipper of his jeans.

 

_Hot time, get it while it’s easy._

_Don’t mind, come on up and see me._

_Rag Doll, baby won’t you do me like you done before._

 

The chorus wrapped into a guitar solo, and when the man backed away, Dean forced his gaze upward. He was rewarded with a deep chuckle, crinkles appearing around the man’s blue eyes before he dropped the tie and tapped the bottom of Dean’s chin. At that point Dean realized he’d been gaping like an idiot and clenched his jaw shut. The man headed back toward the dance floor, giving Charlie’s red hair a flick as he passed.

Dean’s face was flushed, his breathing ragged. Benny was laughing at him - not unkindly - but Sammy was staring at him with a strange smirk. Hoping his jeans were doing _something_ to hide his boner, Dean dragged his chair back to the table and poured himself another shot of tequila. Shit, his hands were shaking!

The two taller dancers had to drag away the third from the bachelor’s table, where a couple of guys were on their knees, laughing so hard that tears poured down their red faces. They regrouped on the stage and flippantly toed off their shoes and _\- ugh -_ started unfastening their belts.

 

_Yes, I’m movin’ - yes, I’m movin’,_

_Get ready for the big time,_

_I get crazy on the moonshine._

 

Charlie and Benny were cheering over the crowd. Sam laughed and clapped, but he kept glancing at Dean, now curious about his reaction to all of this. Fucking _Christ_. Dean threw back his tequila and tried to sulk. 

But those blue eyes sought him out again and winked. He _winked_. At Dean. The bastard.

 

_Yes, I’m movin’ - I’m really movin’,_

_Sloe gin fizzy,_

_Do it till you’re dizzy,_

_Give it all you got until you’re put out of your misery!_

 

Pants dropped. 

So did Dean’s jaw. Again.

Because the man was wearing fucking _lace panties._ White lace that was gorgeous against his tanned skin. And it was stretched dangerously tight over the man’s cock, which was half hard at the very least.

Honestly, Dean couldn’t tell you what the other two were wearing as the trio danced one more time to the chorus. His attention focused solely on the man’s taut muscles, his bed hair, his lean arms, his round calves. And those blue eyes kept searching for his, those hips angled toward his table just slightly as they rolled with the beat, like this whole show was just for him.

Which was ridiculous, right? Dean was just some random guy who gave awkward, unwanted, two-worded advice in a club bathroom.

The song closed with Steven Tyler’s scat singing, trumpet and clarinet crooning away while the guys picked up their clothes, remaining somehow cocky in the way they did it, and sauntered off.

Everyone was riding a high as the music quieted and the spotlights dimmed, though they left their heat behind. 

“Those were my Angels, Sam,” Charlie said, holding her head up with pride.  “They started dancing about the same time I started coming here.” She grinned at Dean. “You doin’ alright there, friend?”

Dean put on his best ‘I’m fine and totally not going to freak out’ smile and said, “Does that mean I’m your Bosley?”

“Bosley!” she cried, throwing her arms around him. This time, she _did_ fall out of her chair, but Dean and Benny caught her from either side. 

“I think our little girl here needs a pit stop,” Benny said and led Charlie away to the ladies’ room. 

Leaving Dean alone with a particularly smug-looking little brother. Fantastic.

Sam leaned over and flicked the blue tie still hanging around Dean’s neck. Dean jerked it off and made to fling it on the floor, but he couldn’t, so he rolled it up in his fist and shoved it into his pocket.

“That was… surprising,” Sam said.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Did you, ah… What did you think?”

“What do you mean what did I think?”

Sam clenched his teeth, muscle twitching in his jaw, and it only served to make Dean’s skin prickle defensively. “Dean, I know it’s your birthday, and you hate talking about anything, well, _personal_ —”

“Sammy, don’t—”

“—But you know that I know, right?”

All of Dean’s blood rushed to his head, pounding in his ears. “Know what?”

Sam glanced around, turning his glass of Coke in circles between his palms. “That, you know… That you… like guys?”

Dean huffed, putting a cocky smirk over his internal panic - sirens, warning bells, flashing lights behind his eyes, _danger Will Robinson danger, Captain to the bridge!_ \- and said, “Yeah, alright, Sammy. I’m not _that_ drunk.”

Sam tilted his head a little, licking his lips and turning to Dean like he was going to let him in on a secret. “Linus Cadman.”

Dean froze and cleared his throat. “Who?”

“ _Deputy_ Linus Cadman, remember? He brought you home after you took that girl Becky to prom.” Sam grinned. “Something happened with him, didn’t it?”

Dean couldn’t move. He couldn’t _breathe_. How the fuck could Sam know that? He’d gotten so drunk that night - almost as drunk as he was now - and Becky had (rightly) dumped him at the dance and left with the Film Club President, Chuck. There was no way he’d risk wrecking his Baby trying to get home, so Dean had started walking. Didn’t get very far before police lights flashed on him. Linus hadn’t been much older than Dean, and he’d been extremely lenient about his public intoxication, buying him a coffee to get him a bit sobered up before going home to face Bobby, because they’d moved into his house permanently by then. 

Things had gotten a little _frisky_ (maybe it was the uniform) and Dean had blown Deputy Linus right there in the front seat of the patrol car.

Still, how could Sam have known?

“Bobby and I,” Sam said, reminding Dean that he was still sitting in a bar on his birthday, “we’ve guessed at it for years now. But we don’t care, Dean.” Reaching over, Sam put a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Gay, straight, bi - whatever. You’re still my brother and you’re still a jerk.”

Dean was almost confused at the smile that broke over his own face, but with it years of heavy baggage seemed to fall away. He knew it wasn’t gone, of course. He’d pick it back up and drag it along behind him probably for the rest of his life. But for that moment, he relaxed so completely that he couldn’t help laughing. “Bitch,” he uttered, and pushed Sam’s hand off his shoulder to let him know he was okay. _They_ were okay.

When Benny returned with Charlie in tow, she had her cellphone out and insisted on taking pictures. (She had apparently already taken a few with other tables.) Dean laughed more freely and made goofy drunk faces with her, and he even said she could post them on her “dash,” whatever that was. Benny had also brought the pie in from the car and was flagging down Gilda to bring them a few plates. Dean was starting to wonder exactly how many favors Charlie had lined up in this place to let them bring in their own dessert.

“[The Other Side](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zkGfPrst29Y)” soon blared over the speakers while three stunning ladies took the stage, twirling with physics-defying grace and strength around the poles set into the dance floor, but Dean found that he couldn’t spare them any attention. Instead, he kept fighting the urge to ask Charlie about her “Angels” and whether he’d get to meet them.

Turned out he didn’t have to ask.

 


	2. Happy Birthday, Dean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean meets Charlie's Angels and gets his birthday present.

“Charlie!” three men cried in sing-song voices, just like on the old TV show. All three (now fully dressed, goddammit) crowded around the redhead’s chair in a group hug, and Charlie giggled.

“Hello, Angels!”

Dean didn’t miss the dark-haired man’s glance at him from over Charlie’s shoulder, though he looked away again quickly, hands in his pockets. His trench coat hung over one arm, and Dean couldn’t help wondering if he still wore those lace panties under his slacks. He could imagine the feel of them under his fingertips as he squeezed the man’s ass, grinding into him—

_Shit!_

“Guys, these lovely gents are Balthazar, Gabriel, and Castiel. Angels - Benny, Sam, and the birthday boy himself, Dean.”

“Ah, I understand now what you were saying about Winchester genes,” said Gabriel, looking between the two brothers with a wry grin. Balthazar was pulling some chairs from a nearby table, while Castiel - _Castiel_ , Dean repeated over and over in his head - was smiling at the floor. “It’s too bad you’re not gay though—” Gabriel ducked, looking wide-eyed into Dean’s face “—are you gay?”

“Gabriel!” Castiel exclaimed and grabbed him by the back of the neck, forcing him into one of the chairs Balthazar provided between Sam and Benny.

Sam chuckled. “Actually, Dean and I were just talking about this one time when—”

Dean stomped on his foot under the table, causing Sam’s other knee to bang the tabletop so hard that everyone’s drinks shifted an inch to the left.

“Excuse me,” said Balthazar, the blond with a British lilt to his pronunciation, as he squeezed another chair between Sam and Dean. Then he promptly pulled Castiel over and plopped him down. “This goes here, and that—” he poured a shot of tequila and pushed it into Castiel’s hand “—goes there. Perfect. _Mazel tov_ , Cassie.”

Castiel was red-faced and looked absolutely livid, but he downed the shot with an almost defiant glare at his two partners. It didn’t escape Dean when their knees touched, crowded as the table was after Balthazar seated himself between Charlie and Benny. 

“What’s in the box?” Balthazar asked, pointing at the white bakery box.

“ _What’s in the boooox_?” Charlie and Gabriel screamed dramatically.

Dean rolled his eyes, but chuckled, glancing sideways to see if Castiel got the joke. Judging by his squinty look, he didn’t. God, he was too freaking _adorable_ —

Nope. None of that, Dean Winchester. You just drink your whiskey and tell them to hand over the damn pie.

Gilda arrived with plates and forks, casually announcing that she was on break. Charlie pulled her into her lap and Benny started passing pieces of cherry pie around the table. The first slice, naturally, ended up before Dean, and Charlie insisted on an entirely too loud chorus of “Happy Birthday” before he was allowed a fork. He hoped the white lighting from the stage hid his blush as he listened to Castiel’s deep voice, wondering if the slight nudge of his knee against Dean’s was just his imagination.

The cherry pie was cold, but fucking _delicious_. And it should be a sin to watch Castiel eat, the way that beautiful mouth wrapped around the tines of his fork, pink tongue sweeping out to lick the crumbs and cherry filling from his lips. He had taken off his suit jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt. The top couple of buttons were undone, exposing a small bit of skin. He looked embarrassed when he first caught Dean staring, but every move after that was carefully calculated. Especially when he wiped the last bit of pie filling from his plate with a finger and sucked it off with a quiet moan.

Dean straightened up, looking quickly around the table to see if anyone else had realized he was gawking at Castiel while he ate. They were all talking over the music about the LSATs - and seriously, what the hell? But knowing they weren’t paying attention, Dean looked back to find those blue eyes fixed on him. 

An amused smile played on Castiel’s mouth. Under the table, a warm hand suddenly crept up Dean’s thigh.

Dean set down his fork. He pretended to follow the table’s conversation, even though he could barely hear them, much less recognize the names of different cases that came up. Sam was talking emphatically about some Supreme Court Judge when Castiel’s finger swept over Dean’s jeans against his balls.

Dean jumped up. “I, uh, gotta piss.”

He staggered on his way to the restroom, realizing just exactly how drunk he was. The pie in his stomach helped a little, but if he didn’t cut himself off now, he’d start puking. That was the _last_ thing he wanted tonight, considering all the pictures running through his head involved his mouth.

He passed the tables in the back and collapsed against the door to push it open. When he finally managed to unzip at the urinal, Dean groaned; he’d lost track of how many drinks he’d had and he really did have to pee. He was really fucking hard though and had to take a few deep breaths to relax before he could do his business. His dick felt extra sensitive when he pushed it back into his pants. 

As he stood at the sink, washing his hands, the door opened. 

“Well, this looks familiar,” Castiel said, smirking at Dean in the mirror. He was a glorious contrast of color in the dull gray interior of the restroom, his bare forearms and throat looking especially warm.

Dean grabbed a paper towel, wiping his hands and pretending his grin wasn’t as wide as it was. “What’re you thinkin’, Cas?” he said, stepping closer to him and throwing the paper towel in the bin. “That we could just sneak off to the men’s room and you could blow me?”

He wasn’t sure how Castiel would react to his teasing, but Dean wasn’t expecting him to tilt his head, an almost manic smile settling across his face. “Yes, Dean. That is exactly what I was thinking.”

Castiel clenched his fist in the collar of Dean’s henley and swung him around, his back whamming into the door. Then he unfastened Dean’s jeans, the muscles in his forearms flexing with the movement, while giving Dean a calculating look. “Don’t let anyone in,” he murmured, his voice low and husky, before he dropped to his knees. 

Dean clawed at the door behind him when Castiel swallowed his cock down to the hilt. “ _Fuck_ , Cas! Holy shit…” He gasped, his head falling back with a _thunk_.

Castiel’s mouth was hot and wet, tongue laving at the underside of his cock. He pulled back, sucking around the tip, before sliding all the way down again. His hands gripped the back of Dean’s calves, letting his hips jerk when Dean couldn’t stop himself. Dean carded his fingers through Castiel’s dark hair, soft and just the right length to grab hold of.

Aerosmith was beating through the speakers in the club, but Dean didn’t know what song it was - he didn’t _care_ , except for hoping it was loud enough to drown out the moans that tore from his throat. Castiel’s blue eyes peered up at him, humming his approval at the sound, and the vibration made Dean thrust into his throat without thinking. Hands tightened around his legs, but Cas made an eager noise and _goddamn_ \- he _wanted_ Dean to fuck his mouth.

“Jesus, Cas,” Dean uttered, clenching the man’s hair tighter in his fist. He pulled Castiel’s head back, enjoying the man’s desperate gasp, and thrust his dick between those perfect lips again. He felt Castiel’s throat clench around the head of his cock when he gagged, and Dean pulled back quickly so he could catch his breath. With the next thrust Castiel swallowed around him.

Dean didn’t last long. He wasn’t ashamed of it; he was drunk and no one had ever sucked him off like this, so greedy and _hot_. 

“Gonna come,” he warned, and he was surprised when Castiel grasped his hips and shoved him back firmly against the door. He wrapped his hand around Dean’s cock and stroked him, and the change was exactly what Dean needed to send him over. The heavy pool of heat in his gut exploded and his breath hitched. Castiel licked his lips, his eyes darkened, as he watched the spurts of come drip down from the slit and spill over his fist. 

With a noise like a whimper, Castiel leaned forward, licking the jizz off his hand and then lapping at Dean’s cock with long, slow strokes of his tongue, like worshiping an idol. He didn’t stop until Dean was completely clean, and Dean shivered when Castiel gave him one more full suck, his lips coming off with a soft pop. 

Then he grinned up at Dean, mouth slack and eyes hooded. “That was perfect,” he murmured.

Dean smiled. He felt all warm and gooey inside, all liquor and orgasm and _happy_. Castiel rose to his feet, very carefully tucking Dean back into his jeans. He was close, almost pressed against him as he buttoned Dean’s pants, and his grin curved a bit wider, less flirtatious and more genuinely pleased. He tilted his head just a little, his mouth dipping a bit closer, and Dean closed his eyes.

Full lips brushed over his. Castiel was tender and almost meek in spite of his previous boldness. Dean sank into the kiss, slipping his tongue between their lips, tasting himself there, and he touched his fingertips to Castiel’s jaw. Everything else disappeared, and he could feel Cas’s smile against his own as they adjusted their stance, tilted their mouths the other way. Dean slipped his hands around to the small of Cas’s back, holding him there, and he sighed in contentment.

Then the bathroom door banged into him, making their teeth clack together and startling the air from his lungs. They quickly stepped away to allow two men inside. Suspicious eyes turned from Dean to Cas, and Dean wasn’t sure if they recognized the latter as one of the dancers or not. Castiel cleared his throat and went to the sink to wash his hands. He glanced up at Dean in the mirror a couple of times and looked away just as fast, though the smile never left his face. Dean held the door open for him when he was ready to leave. 

They made it as far as the bar before Castiel placed one hand on Dean’s shoulder, a silent request to wait. He leaned close, his lips brushing against Dean’s ear and sending shivers over his skin. “I’m calling a cab,” he said. “You have until it gets here to decide if you’ll come with me.”

Then he stepped back, giving Dean a wink, and pulled out his cellphone as he headed for the door so he could make his call outside where it was quieter.

Dean’s heart pumped double-time as he headed to their table. His head was swimming, and though his first instinct was to reach for a drink, his stomach scaled a full on rebellion against the idea. 

Oh, god, he was going to be sick.

“Everything okay?” Sam asked, feigning innocence. His amusement faded though as he took in Dean’s pallor. “Dean?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, forcing a smile. He pushed away his glass, which still held a finger-width of whiskey. “Think I’ve reached my limit, though.”

“Right there with ya, brother,” Benny drawled from the other end of the table. 

Dean looked up and did a double-take, because Charlie was full on _groping_ Gilda, still sitting in her lap with her eyes closed in bliss.

“Jesus Christ, Charlie!”

“Excuse you, Winchester,” Charlie snapped back playfully. “Where have _you_ been all this time?”

Gabriel wolf-whistled as Castiel approached the table, slipping his cellphone into his pocket. “The conqueror returns!” He laughed until Cas very calmly leaned over his chair and whispered something into his ear. Gabriel’s smile fell a couple of degrees, and when Balthazar started to say, “I have to admit, I didn’t think it would take so long to—” there was a loud bang under the table and he nearly fell out of his chair. 

Castiel took the same seat as before and reached over for Dean’s glass of whiskey, draining what was left of it. “I’m quitting my job,” he said as he put it back down.

Everyone turned toward him, but Charlie, Gabriel, and Balthazar especially looked like they were about to flip their shit.

“I’ve been telling you to do it for _years_!” Gabriel shouted over the music. “What the fuck finally changed your mind?”

Cas shrugged, his knee bumping against Dean’s under the table. “Fuck ’em.”

“You’re joking, Cassie,” Balthazar said. He turned to Gabriel. “Is he joking? I can never tell when he’s trying to be funny.”

“SHOTS!” Charlie cried out - and how in the _hell_ did she suddenly have a stronger tolerance than Dean Winchester?

He should’ve passed, he knew it, but he _couldn’t_ because he’d be damned if an annoying, pint-sized, would-be sister managed to drink him under the table. Dean downed one last shot of tequila and _thank god_ the bottle was finally fucking empty.

Someone came to retrieve Gilda, whose break had run a bit over the limit, but Charlie had her number saved in her contacts before she went. Gabriel, Benny, and Balthazar were arguing over the definitive traditional meal of Creole cuisine (Benny would hear nothing against a good old-fashioned gumbo, but Balthazar was listing off his recipe for jambalaya; Dean was pretty sure Gabriel just kept stirring the pot). Sam listened to them with intense amusement and Charlie was typing away at her cellphone, though she slumped lower and lower to the table. She was gonna hit lights out soon.

Dean looked over at Cas, who matched his gaze easily. He looked so relaxed, leaning back in his chair, his hair messed up even more than it had been from Dean running his fingers through it. Dean licked his lips, and Castiel’s eyes honed in on the small action. Those eyes were darker than they’d been all night. His expression changed just a shade, and suddenly there was something predatory and tense in his posture, waiting for the perfect time to leap.

He glanced around the table again. Yeah, Charlie was out, and Benny was shifting his hand in his pocket around his keys, which usually meant he was ready to leave. He wouldn’t be driving, of course - that was Sam’s job.

Dean found Sam staring at him. His brother glanced sideways at Castiel with a tiny jerk of his head. It was a silent question: _Are you two hooking up?_

Fuck, what was Dean going to do? He’d had a few flings with guys obviously, but he had never stayed the night with one. Though Cas hadn’t exactly insinuated that Dean would be staying. God, but the thought of him telling Dean to leave, calling him a cab when they were done - Dean couldn’t handle that. Maybe it was a bad idea.

Castiel pulled out his cellphone; the screen had lit up. “My ride’s here,” he said, sliding it back into his pocket. He looked over to Dean and waited.

It was the kiss, dammit. The blow job was great - fucking _fantastic_ \- but that kiss. It had been gentle, a little shy. Dean had seen hints of it all night in Castiel’s glances. He obviously knew how to work a guy up, but it was those little moments of bashfulness that told Dean something more could be there.

Now the real question was this: did _Dean_ want something more if it was there?

When he looked over at Castiel again, the man was rising to his feet. He took his suit jacket and trench coat from the back of his chair, pulling them on one at a time and studiously keeping his eyes to the floor. He seemed to be struggling for the right words to say so he could bolt for the door.

Dean stood up so fast he knocked over his chair. “Uh…” he said dumbly, and the room spun when he bent over the right the chair and pick up his leather jacket that had fallen off it. Then he had to lean on the table for a second to sort out which Sam he was looking at. “I’m, uh… gonna go home too… with Cas… I mean, in his cab… yeah.”

Sam laughed, waving toward the door. “Get out of here.”

The glow had returned to Castiel’s face as he turned and held out his hand to Sam. “It was nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, you too,” Sam said, shaking it firmly. “Ah, make sure he gets home okay.”

“I will.”

Dean rolled his eyes and patted Charlie on the back. “Goodnight, Charlie.”

Her response was a loud snore. Dean chuckled, pulling on his coat.

“Happy Birthday, brother,” Benny said, standing up to give Dean a hug.

“Thanks, man. And thanks for the pie.”

“Anytime.” He glanced at Cas, who was saying goodbye to Gabriel and Balthazar. “Stay safe.”

“Jesus, Benny, it’s my thirty-fifth fucking birthday in case you forgot.”

“So you don’t need a condom?”

Benny laughed at Dean’s flustered attempt to respond, which was just him opening and closing his mouth a couple of times, and clapped him on the back. Honestly though, Dean wasn’t so worried about Benny seeing him go home with a dude. Benny was the most easy-going man on the planet. Unless you messed with his family, which was why he and Dean were kindred spirits.

With a few ‘Nice To Meet You’s spread around, Dean followed Castiel out of the club. The January night air froze against his skin, and it was enough for Dean to douse the butterflies in his stomach just so he could get into the warm interior of the cab waiting for them at the curb. It reeked of cigarette smoke and stale potatoes, a smell that curled sourly in Dean’s unhappy stomach. Castiel slid into the back seat next to him and closed the door.

“Where to?” the driver asked.

Then Castiel looked to Dean expectantly.

Oh. _Oh._ They were going to Dean’s place, so Cas could slip out easily when he was ready. Fuck, that was always Dean’s game plan, which… really kinda hurt.

He gave the driver the address of his apartment, because what else was he going to do? 

The cab rounded a corner and cut off all of Dean’s thoughts. His stomach did _not_ agree with the motion.

“How did you meet Charlie?” Castiel asked.

Dean glanced at him, seeing through the question as an attempt to keep Dean’s mind off his motion sickness. He answered anyway, because hey, maybe it would work. “It was years ago, back when she worked at that vintage place, the Purple Scorpion or whatever it was, before it went out of business. You heard of it?”

Cas shook his head.

With a shrug, Dean continued. “I went there looking for some records one day and we got to talking, sort of took off from there.” His face was hot and he laid his head back, breathing out forcefully from his mouth.

“Lean forward, not back,” Castiel said, slipping his hand behind Dean’s back to urge him forward. 

Elbows on his knees, Dean wasn’t sure which position was better really, but he liked this one more when Castiel rubbed his hand up and down his back, across his shoulders.

“How’d you, uh, start at the club?”

Castiel’s hand slid up to brush through Dean’s hair before it resumed rubbing his back. “It started out as a joke with Gabriel when he took us there the first time. Then Balthazar said he would do it, and I… well, I gave in rather quickly.” He smile, a flirtatious glint in his eyes. “I’ve been trying to be more spontaneous.”

Laughing, Dean gripped Cas’s knee and said, “Yeah, I bet.”

Castiel pressed their thighs together as he slid his arm around Dean’s back, hand resting on his hip. “This okay?” he asked quietly.

Dean nodded, surprised that Castiel had even bothered to make sure he was comfortable with the gesture after what they had already done. Granted, a comforting hug (or whatever this was) had completely different connotations from a quick blow job in a club restroom.

Castiel wanted to be closer. He wanted to be affectionate. Maybe that meant he wanted more than one night.

A small smile spread over Dean’s lips, and he turned to bury his face in the crook of Castiel’s neck. His skin was warm and far more intoxicating than the liquor pumping through Dean’s veins. He kissed the underside of Cas’s jaw, who squeezed Dean’s hip in reply.

“Do you work tomorrow?” Castiel murmured, tilting his head back for Dean to graze his teeth over his throat.

“Not until noon.” Dean slid his hand to the inside of Castiel’s thigh. “You?”

“Yes.”

“On a Saturday?” What kind of job made you wear a suit on a fucking Saturday? Dean pulled back with a grin. “But you’re quitting,” he remembered. Lowering his voice, he said, “Fuck ’em.”

Castiel’s blue eyes pierced him from under his hooded lids. “Fuck ’em,” he repeated, and dove for Dean’s lips. His tongue lapped into Dean’s mouth as he pushed him back against the seat. Dean moaned, his hips rolling up, and Cas slipped his hand under Dean’s shirt, nails dragging along his side. Then Cas bowed his head, and Dean gasped when he started sucking a mark into his neck.

“Uh…” The driver cleared his throat. 

Dean clutched at Castiel’s trench coat when the man leaned away from him. He looked around - oh yeah, they were going to his place. They were _at_ his place, judging by the brick buildings around them. Dean reached for his back pocket, but Cas had already handed the driver some money and grabbed the collar of Dean’s jacket to haul him out of the car. Grinning, Dean slung an arm around Cas’s shoulders as the cab drove away.

Castiel chuckled, slipping his hand under Dean’s jacket. “Where to?”

“Up there,” he said, motioning to the concrete steps leading up to the second floor of the building across the lot. His usual parking spot was empty since he’d left the Impala at the garage when Charlie had picked him up. It was okay though; he was close enough to walk back tomorrow.

Dean was breathing hard by the time they finally climbed the stairs and reached his door. His blood was pumping and everything was spinning. 

Castiel dug his hand into Dean’s pocket, searching for his keys.

“Oh baby,” Dean said, wiggling his hips. He might be afraid that he was going to hurl, but he was still horny as hell.

“You like that?” Castiel teased back, but then he frowned in the dim lamplight that shined on the parking lot below. 

He pulled his tie from Dean’s pocket, letting it unfurl in his hand.

Castiel’s eyes seemed to go out of focus for a long moment while he stared at it, obliging Dean to find his keys to open the door. After a couple of fumbles, Dean managed to unlock it and he stepped into the dark apartment. He hesitated to turn on a light. They’d go straight to the bedroom anyway, and he’d prefer it if Castiel didn’t see the mess right now. Maybe Dean could clean it up a little before Castiel woke up in the morning. And _what the fuck are you thinking, Winchester_? Cas wasn’t going to stay.

He turned back to the other man, who still stood there in the doorway staring at the tie in his hand. “Cas?”

When Castiel raised his head, that predatory look was back, casting a different set in his jaw. “Dean.”

He shuddered. Like, seriously, his knees wouldn’t stop shaking. He watched as Castiel stepped into the apartment and closed the door, every movement measured and purposeful. The lock latched with finality, and when Castiel faced him, he held up the blue tie between his slender fingers. “I want to tie your hands behind your back.”

“Shit,” Dean hissed, shifting on his feet because _goddamn_ he was hard again now. There was something tight in his chest, a thorny ball of fear and anticipation and _want_ that threatened to buckle his knees. “Fuck. Yeah. Alright. Yeah.”

“Take off your shirt.”

“Okay.” He didn’t need to be told twice. He threw his jacket aside and grabbed the back of his collar, pulling his henley off over his head in one swift motion. He watched Castiel’s gaze sweep coolly over his torso as he removed his own coat and jacket, draping them neatly over the sofa without tearing his eyes away. Dean couldn’t figure out why he was so nervous, waiting – _hoping_ for any sign of his approval.

When the corner of Castiel’s mouth turned just the slightest, Dean’s heart pounded, making it harder to breathe. “Turn around.”

He did so. Castiel’s hands were tender as he wrapped the silky tie around Dean’s wrists, and Dean was a little worried that he’d be able to slip free. Then the knot tightened, and _what the fuck_? Where did Cas learn to do that? There was no fucking way Dean was getting out of this without help. He pulled at the knot and it only tightened. A mix of panic and excitement flurried behind Dean’s lungs.

Lips pressed against his ear from behind. “I want to be rough with you.”

“Ahh,” Dean moaned, and he leaned back to feel Castiel’s erection press against his ass, the buttons of his shirt rubbing along his bare spine.

“Not enough, Dean,” he said, taking hold of Dean’s hips and grinding into his jeans. “Say yes.”

“Yes! God, Cas – _yes_.”

“Good.” Castiel stepped away and placed a firm hand on the back of Dean’s neck. “Your room. Now.”

Dean led the way, but Castiel’s hand was a reminder of who was in control. Christ, Dean had never done anything like this before. He felt stoned, everything drifting in and out except for Castiel’s grounding touch. 

Which was probably why he stumbled over a pair of boots on the floor when they got to his room. 

Castiel caught his arm before he could fall. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good.”

“You should… You should get on your knees.”

Dean knelt at the foot of his bed, wrists twisting anxiously in the knotted tie while Castiel shuffled around in the dark and found the lamp on top of the bookcase. Switched on, it illuminated the bedroom in soft yellow light. There were some clothes strewn on the floor and Dean’s bed wasn’t made. He turned his eyes to the carpet to hide his embarrassment.

Castiel tapped his chin, forcing him to look back up. “I want you to see,” he said, and started unbuttoning his shirt.

Dean thought of the club, of Aerosmith blaring through the speakers, the hot lights overhead, and the way Castiel had marched directly to his table. He started humming “Rag Doll,” and Castiel smirked. He rolled his hips and dropped his shirt on the floor, exposing all of that delicious skin. The light was flattering over his trim chest and cast dim shadows in the V of his hips. 

Dean scooted closer as he unbuckled his belt, but then Castiel paused. He cupped Dean’s chin, forcing him to keep eye contact as he slipped his other hand under his waistband and stroked his cock. Cas exhaled unevenly, staring down at him, and Dean stopped humming to groan. He thrust his hips, searching for friction that wasn’t there, and tilted his head to suck Cas’s thumb into his mouth. Then he started humming again.

“Fuck,” Cas breathed, rubbing the pad of his thumb over Dean’s tongue. Dean grazed his teeth over Cas’s knuckle and twisted hands twisted behind his back, wishing he could squeeze his own throbbing dick. Then Cas pulled his thumb out and traced it over Dean’s lips, smearing around his saliva. He finally unzipped his pants, and _thank you God, capital-G_ , he was still wearing those white lace panties.

A whimper caught in Dean’s throat and he licked his wet lips with what he was sure must have been a pathetic look on his face. 

Castiel seemed pleased, judging by the smug smirk on his face, as he toed off his shoes. “You had that same reaction earlier,” he murmured, his voice low and making Dean’s cock twitch. He dropped his pants, pulled off his socks, and kicked them aside. 

Dean took in the full sight of him, all lean muscle and lace. He was so fucking gorgeous standing in the middle of Dean’s messy room, hands on his hips and staring down at Dean with a blank look - a dare for Dean to make the first move.

Dean leaned forward just a little more, watching Cas’s face to make sure it was okay. When he gave no reaction, Dean licked his lips and his eyes roamed over Cas’s hard-on stretched along his hip under the panties. Dean wanted to smell him, to press his face against the warmth of Castiel’s body. He wanted to _touch_ , and his nails dug into the palms of his fists in frustration. 

Cas didn’t stop him when he rubbed his nose against his balls through the fabric. He smelled of sweat and the earthy scent of pure sex, but there was something else, like the tang left on your tongue after getting shocked with a volt of electricity. Dean mouthed at the lace over base of his shaft, thrilled at the stutter of Cas’s hips.

“Dean,” he whispered, carding his fingers through Dean’s hair. “That feels so good. Don’t stop.”

The praise made Dean relax, and he followed the length of Castiel’s erection with his lips. The thin lacy garment wasn’t enough to contain his bulge, and the tip of his cock poked out from the top. Dean lapped at the pre-come dripping from his slit, and Castiel groaned, fingers pulling his hair. Grinning, Dean caught the top of the panties with his teeth and pulled them down a little more, exposing the head. He sucked on the very tip and swiped his tongue over the slit. Cas’s hips jerked and he dragged his other hand up his chest, teasing a nipple as he watched. Dean looked up at him through his lashes and wondered how long he could tease Castiel this way, focusing all his efforts just on the head of his cock until he flipped Dean over and fucked him into the floor.

 _Whoa_. Dean paused, because he had never really considered that an option before. If his straining dick rubbing a wet spot into his jeans was any clue, Dean was totally down with that.

“Hey.” Castiel’s hand yanked at Dean’s hair in warning. He raised a brow. “I didn’t say stop.”

Dean sat up a bit more eagerly. It had been a while since he'd blown a guy, but he wanted to show Castiel that he could give as well as he got. Cas pushed the panties down beneath his sack, exposing his full erection to Dean’s attention. He was fucking _beautiful_ , and Dean’s mouth watered as he spread his tongue over every inch of Cas’s cock before finally hollowing his cheeks and sliding his lips around him.

“ _Ahh_ ,” Cas moaned, his fingers trembling as he brushed them down Dean’s cheek, under his jaw, and then back up into his hair. “Dean. Oh, you’re perfect.” He scratched the back of Dean’s neck. “So good.”

Dean hummed, satisfied when Cas’s hips jerked, and he bobbed his head. His scalp tingled with every swipe of Cas’s nails. He could tell Cas was struggling to keep still, that he wanted to thrust back into Dean’s throat but held back. Dean was grateful and knew he’d need to work on his game if he was ever going to match Cas’s performance in the club restroom.

Cas panted for breath over him, muttering encouragement and praise between each gasp. And _Dean was doing that_. The spit-slick noise of Dean’s lips moving up and down was vulgar and racy. He paused to suck the pre-come from Cas’s slit, enjoying the mild taste of it. Then he swirled his tongue around the head and swallowed him down again.

“ _Fuuuck_ – Dean, stop.”

Dean pulled his mouth away, even though Castiel’s hand had made no attempt to force him, and he _did not_ pout. Cas looked completely ragged, gripping the base of his cock in a tight fist. He sucked in a deep breath before his shoulders straightened.

Dean shivered at the hungry glint in his eye as Cas stared down at him.

“Stand up.”

It didn’t happen immediately; Dean struggled to find his feet, still drunk and high on the endorphins racing through him. When he finally managed it, Cas hooked his finger in the waistband of Dean’s jeans and yanked him close. He caught Dean’s mouth with a growl, tongue probing past his lips and then biting them. He opened the front of Dean’s jeans and released his mouth long enough to shove them down past his hips. 

With his hands still tied behind his back, Dean lost his balance and fell on the bed. Castiel stared at him, his gaze almost devouring in its intensity, while he perfunctorily pulled off Dean’s boots and socks before tugging the jeans away entirely.

“Where is your lubricant?”

 _Oh god, oh god_. He jerked his head toward the dresser. “Top drawer.”

“Turn over,” Castiel said.

Without the aid of his hands, Dean was forced to lie on his cheek. He spread his knees wide on the bed, sticking his ass in the air, and waited. 

And waited.

Groaning, Dean rolled his hips. His dick hadn’t even been _touched_ since they got to his place, and he was still amazed at the trembling _need_ in his gut, the void that needed to be filled. He wanted to feel stretched and _whole_ and sated. He was starting to wonder how long he’d been wanting it, somewhere in the back of his mind. Looking back on that afternoon with Andy, and that night in the patrol car, and even all those times he’d hit the bottom of a bottle alone, he realized he’d been hoping desperately that something could fill him, take away the emptiness carved out by years of blame and self-loathing. 

It was his fault Dad died. He hadn’t forced the man into his drug habits, hadn’t introduced him to the world of smuggling and dealing, but Dean hadn’t been able to _stop_ him either. When Dad had shown up at Bobby’s a few years ago, strung out and carrying the positive test results for his cancer screening, Dean had taken on the burden of his medical bills, his appointments, his withdrawals, his prescriptions. By the time they had the funeral, Dean was on a shit ton of antidepressants himself. 

That last part he had only just come to terms with, thanks to Charlie. She had been an ear for Dean when he couldn’t admit his depression to his family, and she was the one who’d gotten him out and _living_ again. But realizing how empty those years had left him, how he had cut himself off and built walls to hide away anything he loved because he didn’t deserve it… That was new. 

 _Fuck_ , why was all of this beating him over the head _now_?

He thrust his hips into the empty space again, biting the sheet beneath him. He didn’t want to think; he just wanted to feel, to be lost in this moment and forget about all the shit in his past and all of it probably waiting in his future. Where the hell was Cas? He wanted that dick inside him yesterday. He was ready to do this, come on!

Dean flexed his tied hands behind his back and reached down, finger pressing over his entrance. He huffed, saliva soaking the white sheet between his teeth; he was too dry to do anything but rub his fingertip around the ring of muscle.

Then a cap popped somewhere behind him, and silky lube dribbled over his fingers. Castiel didn’t say anything, didn’t tell him to keep going or to stop, but he didn’t touch him either. Seemed he was content to watch Dean explore, and that thought made Dean moan as he pushed a wet finger into his hole. He whimpered because it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t what he needed. Without waiting, he forced another finger in and writhed with the burn.

“Shit,” Cas hissed behind him.

Dean’s hips jerked at the sound of his low voice. He wiggled his fingers a little, reveling in the feel of them, and then he slid them out and back in. 

Oh, that was _nice_. His shoulders were hurting from the strain of his awkward position, but it only added to the euphoria of it all. Why the fuck hadn’t he done this sooner?

Just as he was getting comfortable with his rhythm, one of Cas's slicked fingers slipped between his two.

He spat out the sheet from his mouth. “Fuck yeah, Cas. Please.”

“Have you ever done this, Dean?” murmured his gravelly voice.

“No,” he admitted, pushing back on their fingers. “Not this.”

Castiel’s finger reached past his own and brushed against a tight bundle of nerves. Dean cried out, his vision going white, and leaked a small puddle of pre-come onto the bed.

Finally the mattress dipped between Dean’s knees. He heard the sound of a foil package tearing and almost cursed. Even after Benny teasing him, Dean had completely forgotten about a condom. He craned his neck, looking back over his shoulder to see Cas rolling the latex over his flushed cock. Then Cas grabbed the knotted tie around Dean’s wrists to pull his fingers away from his hole.

Dean pressed his face in the mattress, waiting for the plunge, but Castiel hesitated. 

“Relax,” he said softly, rubbing circles around the dimples in Dean’s lower back. “You can tell me to stop if it hurts.” He popped the cap on the lube, slicking himself up some more. Then his cock nudged at Dean’s entrance. “Relax.”

Exhaling slowly, Dean released all the tensions in his hips, his thighs, and Castiel pushed in. Fuck, it was _incredible_. It hurt, but the sting only made his heart beat faster, and he wanted to feel it all the way inside. He started to push himself down, but Cas pulled up his bound wrists, causing his arms to arch at an almost painful angle and forcing him to back off.

“Eager,” Castiel chided him before he pulled out and eased in again, pushing a bit further.

“ _Ahh_ fuck, Cas. Please – _ohh_ – I need you.”

“I’m right here, Dean.” He let go of his wrists and slipped his hand up Dean’s back, clasping his shoulder. Then he slowly slid his cock deeper until _finally_ he bottomed out, his hips pressed close against Dean’s ass. 

There was a pinch in the back of Dean’s throat, like he wanted to cry, but he’d done too many new things tonight and _crying during sex_ was not going to be one of them. Instead he rolled his hips experimentally, feeling Cas’s cock press against him inside from all angles. Cas groaned and leaned over him, pressing hot kisses between his shoulder blades. Dean flattened his palms against Cas’s abdomen, and with the tip of his finger he felt that cock pressed to the hilt inside of him. He shivered, clenching his ass, and Cas moaned again.

“More,” Dean uttered. “Cas, please.”

Castiel shifted his weight a little and pulled out almost all the way before thrusting in. 

“Yes,” Dean hissed. “Yesyesyesyes—”

“Is that what you want?” Cas whispered. “Want me to fuck you?”

“God, _yes_.”

“Say it.”

“Fuck me, Cas – please – I need you – fuck me – please – please – _ahh_!”

Castiel’s hand grabbed the back of Dean’s neck, pressing him into the mattress as he started snapping his hips. Dean cried out, but he didn’t say stop. It felt so _good_ , the stretch and the slide and the _fullness_ of each rapid thrust.

“So good, Dean,” Castiel echoed his thoughts, breathing hard and twisting his hand in Dean’s hair. The bed bounced from the momentum of his hips. “You’re doing so well.”

“Cas,” he whispered, throwing himself back to meet each slap of skin. “More - _fuck_ \- harder.”

Then Cas swiftly hooked his hand under Dean’s shoulder and hoisted him up against his chest. He clamped his hand around Dean’s throat – not choking, but a firm reminder that the possibility was there, and why the fuck was that so hot? 

“More?” Cas said and nipped at Dean’s ear. “You’re unbelievable, Dean. I don’t think I could ever tell you no.” 

He reached around and wrapped his other hand around Dean’s aching cock, which was extra sensitive from the lack of attention so far and had every swear Dean knew spilling from his mouth. Castiel flicked his wrist, stroking Dean as he started ramming into him from behind again. He squeezed Dean’s throat and damn near picked him up and brought him back down with each thrust. Dean had never been manhandled like this before and with his hands tied behind his back he felt powerless. It was fucking terrifying, having no control, but also liberating.

He laid his head back on Castiel’s shoulder, crying out when he bit into Dean’s neck. Then Castiel hit that spot inside and Dean jerked, unable to breathe as Cas nailed it again and again.

Dean’s orgasm wiped through him like a bomb going off, punching him in the gut as he came with such force that his semen splattered up on his own chest. 

“Dean… God, you’re beautiful,” Cas whispered, easing the thrust of his hips and moving his hand from Dean’s throat to his shoulder. He kissed the bolt of Dean’s jaw and held him against his chest as he stroked him through to the finish. 

Dean’s entire body went utterly limp, the aftershock of adrenaline and endorphins flushing through his veins. But he whimpered when Castiel withdrew, still hard, and eased him down to the bed. Lying on his stomach, not caring that he was smearing come on the sheets, Dean felt Cas’s warmth disappear and listened as he moved around his room, opening and closing the sock drawer where he’d gotten the lube. 

Then Castiel’s hands took a gentle hold of Dean’s wrists. “I need you to be still,” came his soft voice. “I have to cut this knot.”

Dean felt cool metal on his skin and then the tie fell away. His shoulders ached as he curled his arms at his sides. Pins and needles tingled through his fingertips. He rolled over, watching Cas set the cut blue tie on the nightstand by the alarm clock, which read past two in the morning. He folded the pocketknife he had found in Dean’s drawer and laid it there as well. In the lamplight Dean saw that he hadn’t taken the condom off yet, and he swept one leg under Castiel, wrapping his legs around his hips. He arched his back and groaned when Cas’s erection rubbed against his own oversensitive cock.

Castiel leaned down and slipped his arms under Dean’s shoulders, staring at him with an evaluating look. So Dean raised his head and pressed his lips to Cas’s stubble, kissing his cheek, his chin, and his lips. Castiel breathed deeply before lining himself up and slowly pressing into Dean again. Dean let his head fall back. He was sore, but it still felt amazing.

Cas thrust into him slow and lazy. Dean’s fingers were still tingling as he finally allowed himself a sweeping touch over Cas’s soft skin, the contrasting sensation in his fingertips performing miracles in his post-orgasm haze. He didn’t shy from Castiel’s stare either, which was fixed on his eyes the entire time. Honestly, Dean had never been fond of eye contact during sex – it made him feel too vulnerable, too exposed – but with Cas, it was different. He felt safe; hell, he’d just let the man tie him up and fuck him to the best orgasm he’d probably ever had. Even when Cas leaned in to kiss him again, he kept his eyes open, and Dean kissed him right back, staring as their tongues brushed together. 

It was in that moment, sinking deep into Castiel’s blue eyes and imagining that their souls were touching, that Dean realized he was poised on the edge of a very dangerous cliff, that he could fall at any moment.

Cas’s lips parted, eyes closing for only a second as a weak groan escaped him. His hips stuttered and he pulled out, peeling off the condom and tossing aside carelessly. Rising on his knees, Cas stroked himself as he stared down into Dean’s eyes. Dean grasped his hips, running his thumbs up and down the V of his hipbones, and stared right back. 

“Come on me, Cas,” he whispered, not even thinking about the words as they blurted out of his mouth. “I want you to come on me. Make me yours. I want to be yours.”

Castiel gasped, “Dean!” and then his hot come spilled onto Dean’s stomach. Dean was surprised at the rush of pleasure that pulsed through him, almost like a second orgasm, as he looked down at the mess on his chest and stomach, his spunk mixed with Cas’s.

Once he had stroked it out, Cas leaned over him with a blissed out smile, laying another soft kiss to his lips. 

Dean laughed a little, nipping at his chin. “Could you get a Kleenex?”

Castiel smirked. His pupils were blown wide, hair mussed every which way, and his lips were red from biting and kissing. He pressed his mouth to Dean’s jaw and then further down his neck, until he lapped up one of the stripes on Dean’s chest. Dean cursed under his breath, watching his come disappear on Castiel’s pink tongue. Once it was gone, Cas nipped at his skin and sucked a mark there before moving to the next splatter. 

There was something carnal and possessive in the way Cas licked his way from spot to spot, picking up one claim only to lay down another. And Dean liked it. Fuck, he didn’t know _why_ , but he really liked it. He thought of carrying those marks around later at the garage, hidden from view but still there, a big neon sign saying ‘Private Property: No Trespassing. Trespassers will be shot without prejudice and no one will find your body.’

By the time Castiel had finished, leaning back on his knees to appraise his work, Dean was heavy with drunken fatigue and sinking into a brand of ecstasy he’d never tasted before. 

Castiel seemed to notice, his smile falling as he glanced toward the door. “Go to sleep, Dean.”

Panic blasted one final dose of adrenaline through Dean’s system. “Don’t go,” he said, grabbing Castiel’s hand and squeezing tight. “Stay. Stay tonight.”

Cas’s smile returned, warmer than before as he rubbed his thumb over Dean’s hand. “Okay.”

Dean relaxed and used the last of his energy to roll onto his side, allowing Cas to press up against his back, pulling the sheet over them. Cas huffed after a moment though, and got up to turn off the lamp. Once he had curled up behind Dean again, tucking a knee between Dean’s and slipping one arm under his neck, they settled in for sleep.

Except that Dean could actually feel Castiel’s heart jackhammering against his back. “You okay?” he mumbled.

“Yeah, fine.”

He had answered too quickly.

Dean pulled Cas’s arms to his chest, flattening his hands over his skin. He brought one palm up to kiss. Castiel rubbed his thumb over his lips.

“No worries, alright?” Dean murmured, because if he wasn't so drunk and tired he'd be freaking out over everything he was feeling too. “Let’s just… go with it.”

Cas kissed the back of his neck once, twice. “Happy Birthday, Dean.”

He smirked, glad when Castiel’s arms squeezed around him. Then he let himself fall away.


	3. Some Kind of Wonderful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after.

Waking up was a _bitch_. 

Dean growled at the bright sunlight that filled his room, pulling the sheet over his head and burying his face in his pillow for good measure. Something nagged at him nearby – the whining trumpet and cries of Steven Tyler singing “Dude (Looks Like a Lady)” from his cellphone.

Aerosmith had him thinking of last night. And Cas.

Poking his head up over the sheet, Dean looked around. No sign of him. 

A big, ice-cold stone settled in Dean’s stomach as he slammed his face back into his pillow and screamed curses into it, pounding his fist on the mattress. Of course he was gone. Some big, important, businessman _dickbag_ out blowing off steam: have some fun, strip for the attention of a crowd, and take advantage of the birthday boy. Make him feel special. Give him a present he didn’t deserve. He probably went back to work – if he even really _was_ working on a fucking Saturday.

His cellphone had stopped ringing, but it started again almost immediately. Flinging back the sheet, Dean leapt out of bed and winced when his ass ached, mocking him. His heart pounded with shame and rage as he hunted for his phone in the piles of clothes on the floor, trying not to focus on the fact that Castiel’s shirt and pants were missing. He dug his cellphone out of the pocket of the jeans he wore last night and swiped his thumb over the screen to answer.

“What, Sam?”

“Good morning, sunshine!” Sam laughed. “This is your hangover wakeup call.”

“Fuck you.” Dean hung up. He dropped the phone on the bed, barely managing to avoid throwing it against the wall, and the chorus of “Dude (Looks Like a Lady)” promptly started again. 

Pinching his eyes, Dean fought the urge to vomit. His head was tight with pain and his mouth was dry. He ignored the phone, jerking on the same pair of jeans in his hand and throwing back the bedroom door to head for the bathroom.

The smell of coffee and sizzling bacon made him stop, placing a hand on the wall to keep the hallway from spinning. He could hear the soft tune of a record as well. Stomach twisting, Dean went down the short hall to the kitchen. 

Castiel stood at the stove dressed in one of Dean’s old AC/DC shirts and a pair of his boxers. Dean could recognize the strums of Grand Funk Railroad from the turntable now, the volume low enough that he had not heard it from the bedroom. Guilt rolled over him as he took in the omelets and pancakes already plated neatly on the kitchen counter, the few dishes in the sink. All of his anger disintegrated and there was actually a knot in his throat.

He watched as Cas laid a paper towel over a third plate and transferred the bacon, all the while humming quietly along with “[Some Kind of Wonderful](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O7B5jXYRy3Q).” When he set the pan back on the stove to cool, he caught sight of Dean and smiled.

“I was about to come get you. You said you had to work at noon, correct?”

Dean didn’t even comprehend what Cas was saying. He just kept staring at him, dressed in Dean’s clothes, with breakfast laid out for two. The only person who had ever made him breakfast the next morning was Lisa, and even then they had been dating for a couple of months. She’d had a kid, things were complicated, and it hadn’t ended well because in the end Dean got cold feet. 

What scared him about this picture, about Cas standing there in his tiny kitchen looking more and more concerned by Dean’s silence, was that he wanted to see it again tomorrow. And the next day. And the next.

He had only just _met_ the guy! One night and Dean Winchester, lone wolf and Kansas’s #1 Most-Wanted Bachelor – one night and his fucking wings were clipped.

With a groan, Dean bent down and banged his head on the counter. Sam had described this exact feeling about the night he had met Jess. Dean was too hungover for this shit.

The tap ran for a moment and then Cas was pushing a glass of water into his hand. “Go take some medicine and drink this. I’ll call a cab and be gone in fifteen.”

“What? No!” Dean left the glass on the counter and pulled Castiel into his arms, horrified at the way he’d interpreted Dean’s actions. “That’s not - I don’t want you to go.”

Castiel relaxed, snaking his arms around Dean’s waist. He pressed his lips to Dean’s neck and whispered, “I don’t want to go either.”

Turning his head, Dean kissed Castiel’s cheek before moving to his mouth. And that was it – those full lips on his became his favorite feeling in the world. The first bite into a warm pie and the thrum of the Impala’s engine behind the gas pedal had to bump down to second and third.

The thought made Dean smile into the kiss. Cas smiled too, but he pushed Dean away. “Go take some aspirin for your head. We’ll eat breakfast, and then you’re taking a shower because you smell like tequila.”

Dean laughed and reached down to squeeze Cas’s ass. “Promise you’ll join me?”

“That can be arranged.”

Grinning, Dean took the glass of water back to the bathroom, where he took a much needed piss, swallowed down a couple of aspirin, and washed his hands and face. He chugged the glass of water and stopped in his bedroom to retrieve his cellphone. Sam had called a couple more times and he had a dozen texts.

 

**[Charlie – 01:04] did you seriously go home w cas,,?**

**[Charlie – 01:04] I want details!!!**

**[Benny L – 01:36] Got little bit home n safe. She only puked once. Hope you got lucky. Thurs nite, Roadhouse.**

**[Sam – 01:50] Everyone home safe. Happy Birthday, Dean. Wakeup call at 10.**

**[Charlie – 03:52] weirdest dream u were fighting monster things black ooze everywhere and they ate themselves cas was there his coat turned into wings and all these monsters demons zombies surrounded u and cas pulled u out nut then he fell into lake an u were sad and took his coat everywhere are u ok I just wanted to check don’t be sad I think u guys would be good**

**[Sam – 10:15] WAKE UP. I’ve called you three times.**

**[Sam – 10:26] I hope you’re really awake, asshole.**

**[Charlie – 10:29] I have no idea what that last message meant. I don’t even remember dreaming. WHAT HAPPENED WITH CASTIEL?!**

**[Sam – 10:31] Sorry, I know you’re hungover. I’ll come over around 11 to make sure you’re up.**

**[Charlie – 10:39] Gabriel says Cas isn’t home yet. TALK TO ME! Are you engaged?**

**[Charlie – 10:39] Sorry in advance for not hooking you two up earlier.**

**[Unknown – 10:41] I better get my brother back looser and kinkier than when you took him, buster. The man needs to unwind. DO NOT LET HIM GO TO WORK. DO NOT LET HIM ANSWER HIS PHONE.**

 

Dean frowned at the last one, but quickly sent off replies to Sam ( _Don’t need to come over, I’m up, sorry for being a douche_ ) and Charlie ( _Gay marriage isn’t legal in Kansas yet_ ). The one to Charlie made him grin. 

When he returned to the kitchen, Castiel had set their plates on the small breakfast table in the corner and changed the record to Terry Reid’s _[River](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JpFYalVFFuQ)_ album. 

“How do you like you’re coffee?” Cas asked as he reached for the pot.

“Today, black.” He sat at the table and his phone beeped like a Star Trek Communicator.

 

**[Charlie – 10:45] I’M SCREAMING!!! CALL ME ON YOUR BREAK!!!**

 

Dean grinned and slipped his cellphone into his pocket as Cas put a mug of coffee in front of him. He leaned in for a kiss, his hand rubbing over Dean’s bare shoulders, before sitting next to him.

“Have you gotten a hundred messages as well?” 

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Mostly Charlie. Is Gabriel your brother?”

“Yes. Did he text you?”

Dean nodded, cutting into his omelet and stuffing a large bite into his mouth. “Damn, Cas,” he mumbled as he chewed. “This is good.”

“Thank you.” He poured syrup over his pancakes. “When do you have to leave?”

“Pretty soon actually, if I’m going to get you home.”

Cas met his eyes, frowning a little as he wiped a drop of syrup from the corner of his lips. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to. Besides,” he winked, “you haven’t met my baby.” He wanted to laugh when Cas blanched, chewing his pancake slowly. “My _car_ , Cas.”

His shoulders slumped in relief. “You’re an ass, Dean. And I’d love to meet your baby.”

They plowed through breakfast and Castiel joined him in the shower as promised, though they only had time to exchange quick hand jobs. Dean looked for an extra toothbrush, but Cas resolved to use his finger when they brushed their teeth. Then Cas changed in the living room, where he had folded his clothes and laid them on the couch with his trench coat, and Dean pulled on a fresh gray henley and chose a green plaid shirt from the laundry basket that smelled okay. 

Castiel had filled a to-go mug with the rest of the coffee and handed it to Dean after he pulled on his leather jacket. Dean smiled and kissed him, and kissed him, and yeah, he was going to be late but who cares.

“We’ll have to walk a couple of blocks to the garage,” he said as they stepped out a few minutes later. It was freezing and the sky was gray, but at least it wasn’t windy.

Castiel’s eyes squinted, and Dean wanted to kiss him again. “You keep your car in a garage two blocks away from your apartment?”

“It’s where I _work_ , Cas. I’m a mechanic. Thought Charlie would have mentioned that.”

“Oh. No, she mostly talked about how terrible you are at Monopoly.”

“Dude, have _you_ played Monopoly with her?” he said, locking the door. “She takes two trips around the board and then every spot you land on, you owe her $800.”

“We played once. She won’t play any board games with me anymore.”

Dean laughed as they headed down the stairs. “Awesome. You play a lot of Monopoly as a kid?”

Castiel bit his lip, and then, in a rush of breath, said, “My father owns Cloud Nine Investments.” 

Stumbling, Dean spilled a little coffee on his wrist and flung it off, glad it wasn’t too hot. “Uh…” He wanted to look at Cas, but he was suddenly very self-conscious. He didn’t know squat about the stock market or anything else like that, but he knew Cloud Nine was a chain of banks throughout the south and midwest. If Cas’s father was the owner, he must be a millionaire.

“Uh,” he said again dumbly. “So if you’re quitting you’re job…”

“I’m the COO.” When Dean said nothing, he explained further. “The Chief Operating Officer. I oversee the day-to-day business and report directly to my father. But I hate it, Dean.” He sighed, staring at the cracked concrete as they left the apartment complex and turned onto the sidewalk. “I hate being in an office all day, having to make so many decisions that will affect thousands of people - it’s always our investors versus our employees. I don’t want the responsibility anymore. Gabriel left years ago. He runs charities now - that’s how he met Balthazar. He works for the ACLU and they partnered on a project.”

Dean took a long drink of coffee, trying to let the revelation settle in. He forced himself to look at Cas, to see the same man that had cooked him breakfast this morning. A little more padding in his pockets made no difference, right? “What’s your dad going to do?”

Castiel smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “He won’t be pleased.”

Dean nodded. “What are _you_ going to do?”

At that, Castiel seemed to brighten. He looked at Dean and shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. Isn’t that amazing?”

It didn’t take long to reach Singer’s Auto Repair. The garage spread out on a corner, painted white with a red awning over the door to the customer’s waiting area. Dean fought the heat in his cheeks when he found Ash standing in the garage bay, looking at Cas as they approached with a raised brow. He gestured to someone inside and Bobby came out, adjusting his cap.

Dean went to the side of the Impala parked in front of the main office. He noticed Castiel looking ahead at the men watching them, and Dean groaned when Cas waved, cool as a fucking cucumber. Bobby and Ash waved back. It looked like they might be laughing, but Dean couldn’t hear them from here.

He pulled out his keys and unlocked the driver’s door. “I’ll be right back!” he shouted toward the garage before ducking inside. He reached across the bench seat and unlocked the other door for Cas. “Where am I taking you?” he asked.

“I’ve been staying with Gabriel the past couple of months,” he said as he got in. “He lives downtown.” Cas looked out to the garage bay, where Bobby was smacking the back of Ash’s head, probably telling him to get back to work. “I can take a cab. I don’t want you to be late on my account.”

“Hey, you’re not the only one in line to inherit the family business,” Dean said, starting the engine and smiling at the sound. “Except mine comes with perks. I’ll just stay a little later tonight. Nothing they can’t handle without me for a while.”

“I envy you,” Castiel said, pulling out his cellphone. “I now have twenty-seven voicemails.”

“Jesus.” Dean looked over and his spirit sank at the frown pursing Cas’s full mouth. He reached over and ran his fingers through Cas’s hair, still cool from their walk in the winter air. “Hey,” he murmured and waited for those pretty blues to look up. He smirked. “Fuck ’em.”

Castiel’s face broke into a grin and he laughed. Feeling better, Dean drove out of the lot and headed downtown, silently urging the car to heat up faster so he could crank on the heater.

Cas directed him to a tall apartment building about a mile from Club Radiant. Dean pulled up to an empty spot at the curb and parked the car - and this was where things would get awkward. Should he get out, maybe walk Cas to his door? Or was that too cheesy? He wanted to see Cas again, but the next few days would be stressful if Cas was really going through with quitting his job. Maybe he would decide it wasn’t a good time to start a relationship.

And what? _Relationship_? Fuck, Dean was so gone.

Castiel cleared his throat, looking out the window at the people passing on the sidewalk. “I had a good time,” he said, and then he laughed. Dean was glad he at least sounded as nervous as Dean felt. “That was terrible. Everyone says that.”

Dean decided to hell with it. “I get that it’s probably not the best time, but I’d like your number,” he said. “Maybe, uh… I dunno, have lunch or something after you get things sorted—”

“I put it in your phone before you woke up.” Castiel smiled, but kept his gaze down. “And I’d like that.”

Dean’s heart was pounding and his grin was starting to hurt his face. “Awesome. I’ll, uh, talk to you later then.”

“Dean.” Castiel’s shoulders had straightened and his eyes finally met Dean’s with _that look_. “Come here.”

Without hesitation, Dean slid over until their thighs pressed together. Castiel grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him in for a fierce kiss, tongue probing into his mouth. Dean moaned, sliding his hand under Castiel’s coat and down his side. When Cas drew back, he nipped at Dean’s bottom lip and smirked.

“I’ll see you soon,” he said, and kissed him one more time before opening his door. He climbed out, but ducked his head in one last time to say, "Nice car, by the way," and then he shut the door and walked away.

Dean stared after him until Castiel disappeared into the building’s lobby. Then he whipped out his cellphone, checking to see that Castiel’s name really was in his contacts. 

And there it was, paired with a photo of Cas kissing Dean’s sleeping face.

Dean fished out his Aerosmith tape from the glovebox and hummed along to “Rag Doll” the whole way back to the garage.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading my first Destiel fic! It's been a couple of years since I've written at all, and this wasn't beta'd, so please let me know of any errors. This was intended to be a 6000-8000 word one-shot for Dean's birthday, but obviously it got away from me. Better late than never!


End file.
